


Don't Let Go

by Enochian Things (Salr323)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s11e06 Our Little World, Fix-It, M/M, Profound Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 23:56:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5721874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salr323/pseuds/Enochian%20Things
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is broken, Dean's afraid of the Dark; the bond they share can still fix them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Let Go

As he stands in the cold outside the bunker it’s not the ache in his fists that lingers; it’s the words that echo in the hollows of his mind. __

_You are broken, Castiel. You are scarred, deep._

Metatron, for all his deceptions, has always spoken the truth and he understands Castiel’s story better than he understands it himself. He can see into the dark spaces hidden in his mind, can read his shuttered secrets – the ones he hides even from himself – only to let in the harsh light when it best suits his purpose. Although he twists and manipulates it, Metatron has always spoken the truth.

Castiel _is_ broken. He _is_ scarred. 

Sometimes – often – he thinks it would have been better if he’d never come back after that shining victory against Lucifer. They stopped the Apocalypse, he doesn’t regret his part in that, but everything that came after has been one long, spiraling descent. Along the way he’s lost his garrison, his home, his wings, his grace and, at last, his identity.

He doesn’t know what he is anymore, neither angel nor man and despised by all. His brethren hate him and wish him dead; they can never forgive his betrayal of Heaven. The Winchesters think he’s useful, for now, but he knows all too well what happens when he’s not. He’s learned to distrust their self-serving loyalty, fierce in one moment and forgotten in the next. 

And beneath it all beat dark wings: rage like fire, an unquenchable fury that burns scarlet behind his eyes. He fears what he’s become: the Destroyer, the Angel of Death standing between Earth and Heaven with his drawn sword in his hand stretched out over the world. 

Behind him the bunker door opens and then closes, purposeful footsteps climbing the steps to where Castiel stands gazing out over the empty space of Kansas. He knows it’s Dean without turning around; despite the pain of it, Dean's still the lodestone by which he sets his bearings.

Dean stops some distance away, breathing his unease into the night. “So,” he says after a while, “you doing okay, Cas?”

Something like a smile curls the corner of his mouth. It’s an impossible question to answer; there are so many permutations of ‘okay’. He settles for, “I thought I might go to Gaza.”

He can hear Dean draw breath before, doubtful, he says, “Gaza, New Hampshire?”

“Palestine,” Castiel corrects, as if there were ever any doubt. “Perhaps I can find something there we can use against the Darkness.”

A beat falls, then another, before Dean comes to stand next to him. He’s close enough that Castiel can feel a faint heat from his body; he refuses to lean into it. 

“I guess that could be useful,” Dean allows, shoving his hands into his pockets against the cold. “But be careful. It’s a dangerous part of the world.”

Castiel tips his head to look at Dean, after all this time still not sure whether he's joking. “The Darkness has been set free from its eternal bond,” he says. “A force as powerful as God – locked away by God since before creation – has been unleashed on the world. Everywhere is _dangerous_ , Dean.”

He expects Dean to flinch away from that, to frown, scrub fingers through his hair. Instead he just nods. “Like I said, be careful. We need you to come back.”

“Of course I’ll come back.”

“Hey,” Dean says, “the hell does that mean?”

Castiel blinks in confusion. “It means I’ll come—”

“The sigh,” Dean says, turning around to face him. “What's with the heavy sigh, Cas?”

“I— I didn’t realize I’d sighed.” When Dean doesn’t relent in his steady gaze, Castiel adds, “I’m probably tired. My encounter with Metatron was… draining.” He flexes his fingers and looks down at his hand; it’s easier than holding Dean’s gaze while he’s attenuating the truth like this. 

“The guy’s a dick,” Dean says, although his voice is softer and less challenging than before. “What did he say to you?”

“I told you. He said the Darkness is God’s—”

“Not about that. C’mon, Cas, it’s me. Metadouche always dicks with your mind. What did he say this time?”

Castiel opens his mouth to respond, to sidestep the question, but his intention is derailed by a violent vision: his fist slamming into Dean’s face, the red veil of rage casting everything in its bloody light. He catches his breath, but he can feel the impact against his knuckles, feel the fury ignite beneath his skin. “He—” His breath catches and before he can stop it the truth spills out. “He said I was broken.”

“Bullshit.”

“No.” He squeezes his eyes shut but he can still see Dean’s blood spilling, feel his own bones shatter as Dean looms above him with his blade in his hand and murder in his eyes. “He was right, Dean. I _am_ broken. Something's wrong with me.”

“Cas.” Dean grips his arm, shaking him. “Hey, look at me.”

He sucks in a breath and forces his eyes open, but the memory is still there, running vivid in the background. The rage, the fear: all of it is still there, playing over and over like a video loop. “I’m afraid,” he confesses in a voice that truly sounds broken. “Dean, I’m afraid.”

Dean swallows, but nods. “Okay. Well, join the club, dude. This Darkness chick? She’s fuckin’ scary.” 

“Not of that,” Cas says, ashamed of the truth leaking out through his wounds. “Of me, Dean. Of the damage I could do, the mistakes I could make.”

Dean’s hand firms on his arm, holding him steady like a tether. “You wanna talk about mistakes?” he says, eyebrows lifting. “Seriously? Because I have you beat hands down, my friend.”

“I destroyed _everything_ ,” Castiel persists. “And I could do it again, Dean. From the moment I was brought back I've been nothing but a force of destruction. Sometimes,” he swallows against the thought, not sure he wants to admit it but unable to stop now the floodgates have been breached, “sometimes I wonder if it was Lucifer, not God, who brought me back. If he somehow reached out from the cage and brought me back to be his unwitting agent on Earth.”

Dean takes a step back, incredulity wide across his face. “That,” he says, with conviction, “is the biggest load of horseshit I ever heard.”

“Think about it, Dean, about everything I've done since we defeated Lucifer. I was vain, naive, self-righteous and I let myself be used. First by Crowley, then by Naomi, by Metatron, by you and Sam: everyone has manipulated me into making things _worse_. So, why not Lucifer? Why not him most of all?”

“Whoa, what?”

“Lucifer has—“

“No, before that. You think me and Sam _manipulate_ you?”

“Only to the degree that I’m useful to you, of course,” he says, impatient because the other idea he’s chasing is far more compelling. “But don’t you see, Dean? It explains everything. If Lucifer—”

“We do _not_ manipulate you,” Dean objects, affronted and talking right over him. “And what the fuck, Cas? ‘ Useful to you?’ What does that even mean?”

He pushes out a incredulous laugh, the sound as tattered and broken as the rest of him. “It means—” He looks away, struggling to explain. “It’s… It’s ‘Cas, get your feathery ass down here’. ‘Cas, I need you to fix this.’ ‘Cas, where the hell have you—'”

“Okay!” Dean holds up a hand to stop him, but his expression is stormy. “That’s— Fuck, Cas, I don’t even know where to start with that.”

Castiel just stares at him, fixes him with a long look and tries to see behind the shutters he’s throwing up. “Have I misunderstood something?” he says, knowing that he hasn’t.

Dean just shakes his head. “Yeah, okay, you’re handy in a fight. And you know some useful shit. But that’s not why— I mean that’s not the only reason I…” He trails off, blows out a breath and stares at his shoes. 

Castiel watches him, curious. As ever, Dean has surprised him; this isn’t the disparaging reaction he’d expected. “I don’t mean it as a criticism,” he ventures. “I am – _was_ – a weapon of God. My function is to be ‘handy in a fight’ as you put it, I don’t expect—”

“Yeah, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Dean looks up at him from beneath his brow. “You don’t expect to be more than that– you don’t expect to _mean_ more than that. To anyone.”

Castiel holds his gaze, but not for long; his scarred feelings make the moment too raw. He won’t lie to Dean again, though, not even by omission. He’s done with lies. “There was a time,” he confesses, voice dropping low, “when I thought— when I let myself imagine that I meant something more than that. To you. But after the Leviathan—” He swallows, shakes his head but can't dislodge the memory of that dark time. “I know you can never forgive me for what I did to Sam and so—”

“Jesus, Cas.” Dean scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. “That? Really?”

“I betrayed you in the most profound—”

“And I nearly killed you!” Dean snaps. “Just a couple weeks ago, man. I beat the living crap out of you and nearly put a frickin' angel blade through your heart. So, fuck your pity party, Cas, but when it comes to betrayal I think we’re even. And then some.”

The violence in Dean’s voice makes Castiel tense, ignites scarlet flares of alarm in the center of his chest that spread out twitchy into his limbs. He flexes his fingers, makes a fist, and tamps down the fear and anger. “No worse than I’ve done to you, Dean. More than once.”

“You weren’t yourself, either time.”

“Nor were you.” He tips his head, catches Dean’s eye. “But that doesn’t make any difference, does it?”

Dean holds his gaze for one angry beat, then looks away. “No,” he admits, low in his throat. “No, it doesn’t make any fucking difference.”

Cas takes a breath, tries to allow his panic to seep out with it. “I keep having visions,” he admits, his voice as confessional as Dean’s. “It’s— I can’t explain it. They’re not dreams, because I’m awake, but it’s like I’m reliving terrible moments of violence and I can’t stop it. I can’t stop them from unfolding over and over inside my mind.”

“Shit,” Dean says, sucks the word in on a breath like a gasp. “Shit, Cas.”

Which confirms his suspicion. “You see? Metatron was right. I _am_ broken.”

“No.” And this time when Dean turns toward him he takes a step right into Castiel’s space. “That’s not broken, Cas. That’s—” He looks at him then, his expression almost tender, like he’s seeing Castiel anew. “Shit,” he says again, “that’s just human. That’s— It’s just a crappy human reaction to trauma. It’s normal, dude.”

“The visions are normal?”

“They're not visions. They sound like flashbacks,” Dean says. “Crappy memories you can’t stop replaying.”

“They’re not simply memories—”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean says. “It’s like you’re back there, right? Like it’s real and you can’t stop reliving it. You feel so fucking helpless and angry it’s like you’re going to tear right out of your skin, but you can't stop – you're just going round and round in fucking circles.”

Castiel cocks his head, astonished. “You’ve had the same experience?”

“Sure. After—” He swallows. “After Hell, for a while, and after you– When I thought we'd lost you. And after I went dark-side last year? Yeah, that was real fun.”

A breath escapes Castiel, heavy like he’s been holding it in for weeks. “Then they stop, these ‘flash backs’?”

“Normally,” Dean says. “Normally they’ll stop on their own.”

“And abnormally?”

Dean gives a weary smile. “Cross that bridge if we get there, huh?” Then he reaches out and puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, his solid grip reassuring. “You’re not broken, Cas. And you’re nobody’s tool. Certainly not mine. You’re— Cas, don’t you get it?”

“Get what?”

“Look, when I say I need you I don’t mean— I’m not dialing for pizza, dude.”

Cas tilts his head. “Sometimes you ask me to bring—”

“Okay,” Dean says, waving it away. “But that’s just— Look, it’s not just your mojo I need, Cas. It’s _you_.”

“That’s not what you said when I was without my ‘mojo’,” Castiel reminds him, and perhaps it's petty but it's there too in the endless loops of memory: Dean driving away, leaving him lost and afraid. 

Dean frowns. “What do you mean?”

“When I was human—”

“C’mon!” he objects. “That was because Gadreel had me over a barrel.”

“I don’t mean the bunker,” Castiel says, although it’s a painful memory in its own right. “I’m talking about your advice when you left me in Rexford, that I should live a normal life and leave solving the 'angel problem' to you and Sam. You didn’t need me then, Dean, it was very clear. I was useless to you.”

Dean stares at him for a long moment, his pulse ticking in his throat, and then he says, “Jesus, Cas,” and drags him into a crushing hug. “That’s not—” He growls the words into Castiel’s ear, “I wanted you _safe_ , you dipshit. I wanted you out. I wanted you—” His arms tighten further. “I wanted you happy, Cas.”

Tentatively, Castiel hugs him back, reveling in the unexpected comfort he finds in Dean’s warmth, in the strength of this rare human contact. He closes his eyes, breathes in deep. “Dean,” he says, reckless with the truth now, “I could never be happy without you.” 

Dean goes very still, his breath hitching to a halt. “Well, you got me,” he says in a rough voice, not letting go. “Cas, don’t ever fuckin’ doubt that.”

He lets out a long breath that shakes against the tightness of his throat. “I doubt it all the time, Dean. I doubt _everything_.”

“Not this,” Dean says, and pushes back enough that he can look Castiel in the eye. “Not me. I know I’ve been– I’ve been a literal fucking monster, but I _never_ stopped—” He’s breathless, wild-eyed in a way Castiel has never seen him. “I need you, Cas, but not like I need a weapon. I need you like I need fucking oxygen. I can't even explain it; it's like you’re the other half of me or some shit.”

Astonished, Castiel closes his eyes against the intensity of Dean’s expression, against a rush of sudden euphoria – against the fear that this is some expression of his broken mind. “It's because we share a bond,” he whispers. “Dean, I thought you’d forgotten.”

Abruptly, Dean takes hold of his face, startling Castiel's eyes back open. “I haven’t forgotten,” he says but there’s something in his expression that looks like fear. “Cas. You gotta promise me something.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t let me forget,” he says. “Don’t let me forget that we’re bound, Cas. That I was bound to you _first_.”

“First?”

“Please, Cas.”

Confused, he lifts a hand and rests it against Dean’s shoulder where, once, his hand had branded Dean’s skin. “Okay,” he says. “I won't let you forget.”

Dean nods. “I won’t forget,” he echoes, as if he’s talking to himself. Then he fixes Castiel with a look of sudden determination. “I _won’t_ forget,” he repeats, and before Castiel can reply Dean's leaning forward and kissing him, hands vice-like on either side of his face.

It takes a moment for Castiel to respond in kind, his hand clutching Dean’s arm as if he could brand him anew. 

When Dean eventually pulls back, he looks shaken. “Um,” he says. “So…yeah.”

Castiel feels similarly dazed, but he smiles without irony for the first time in too long and it feels so much like relief that his knees almost buckle. “Well,” he says, “that was… Actually, no, I have no words.”

Dean huffs out a nervous laugh, but doesn’t let go. “Overdue,” he says, fingers curling into the hair behind Castiel’s ears. “I was going to say ‘that was overdue’.”

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, although in truth he’d never imagined – or dared to hope – that anything like this could really happen. “This bond,” he says, tightening his grip on Dean's arm again, “it’s real. You understand that? It’s not just—” He casts around for a way to explain it. “It was forged on the celestial plain, Dean. It _is_ profound.”

“And no one can break it, right?” Dean says, that fear back behind his eyes. “No one can undo it or – or bind me to something else?”

Castiel frowns. “Not if you don’t wish it, no.”

“Good,” he says with a nod, his hands sliding away from Cas’s face, over his shoulders to clasp both his arms. “That’s good.” Then he lets go, breathes out and glances toward the bunker. “So don’t leave yet, have something to eat before—”

“Dean.” Castiel catches his sleeve as he starts to turn away. 

“Yeah?”

“The Darkness—”

He shakes his head. “Cas—”

“Amara,” he persists. “Is she trying to break your bond with me?”

“She—” Dean rubs his fingers through his hair. “I don't know. I don’t want to think about her right now.” 

“But Dean—”

“Just so long as we’re good,” he says, turning back to grip Castiel’s shoulder. “You and me, Cas. So long as we’re solid, it’ll be okay.”

“But you’ll tell me if—”

“Just make sure I don’t forget,” Dean says. “Just– Don’t let go, okay?”

Castiel nods. “Dean,” he says gravely, “I will _never_ let you go. That I can promise.”

For a moment, he thinks Dean is going to pull him into another hug. But he doesn’t, he just drops his hand from Castiel’s shoulder and tugs on his arm instead. “Come on,” he says. “Come back inside. We’ll get pizza and watch some TV.”

Castiel hesitates, glances out across the night-dark land around them, then back at Dean and the warmth he’d thought lost. Gaza can wait, the Darkness can wait one more night. “Season five of _The Walking Dead_ is on Netflix,” he says. “I've heard it's good.”

Dean responds with a sly smile. “A little Netflix and chill, huh?”

“I don’t—” He stops himself, eyebrows rising. “Actually, I _do_ understand that reference.”

Dean’s blush makes him laugh and it feels like a flare of hope, like a bright light shooting up in defiance of the encroaching Darkness.

In that moment he realizes that Metatron is wrong; he's not broken. He may be damaged, he may be scarred, but he’s capable of healing. And if he’s standing between Earth and Heaven with his drawn sword in his hand stretched out over the world, it’s not to destroy it but to protect it. 

To protect Dean. 

And in that purpose he will never waver.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it! Although this is a fix-it fic, I don't actually think Cas's problems could be easily fixed at this point. I'm hoping we'll see some real exploration of his alienation and loneliness in the second half of this season. But in the meantime, there's fic... ;)
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as [enochian-things](http://www.enochian-things.tumblr.com/) so come and say hi! :)


End file.
